One of These Nights
by wp1fan
Summary: "He's sure he's never been more aroused in his entire life." Post-finale fic. SPOILERS for "Always" *Chapter 3 now up* COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Not mine. I'm finally okay with that, since AWM is taking such good care of them. **

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He can't keep his eyes open. His mouth is at her neck again and he feels her strong swallow against his tongue. Her gasps and his harsh breaths are filling the air around them and he's sure he's never been more aroused in his entire life. She's escorting him through his loft by the open ends of his shirt as he blindly unbuttons the rest of hers, and he must be doing a pretty good job because he can feel more and more flesh brushing against his chest and stomach when his body propels into hers.

He's _afraid_ to open his eyes. That's the crux of it. Normally when she's peeling off his shirt, sucking at his shoulder, unbuckling his belt, sighing his name, it's all a wonderfully erotic dream and when his lids rise, the action ends. She's doing all of that now and it feels so damn good, better than anything he's imagined previously.

"Castle?"

"Yeah?"

"Everything okay?" Her voice is soft, and he barely hears it over the booming rumble of thunder. She jolts in his arms a little and her lips are back on his, pressing a series of quick, wet kisses there. He wants to deepen them, but can't catch the lungful of air needed to take her mouth. "Look at me," she whispers.

"Can't. I'm dreaming."

"You're not dreaming," she huffs out in a laugh. She licks into his mouth and he does then take the opportunity to suck on her tongue, pull her hips to his. Sweet agony.

"I've had this dream before." He's mumbling into her skin, his lips crawling down her chest, then back up the path of her bra strap—he can't get enough, wants to be everywhere, needs to get it all in while he can. "Ow—what?"

He cracks one eye open, then the other, sees her leaning against his desk, so hot, grinning, all teeth and wide lips. "Do I step on your feet in these dreams of yours?"

"More like _stomp,_ and no. Dream Kate is much nicer," he mock-glares her way, wiggling his toes. "She strokes my ego."

"Is that all she—"

He groans. "Do _not_ finish that," he warns, pressing his mouth to hers to shut her up and because he just can't stop his need to taste her.

"You don't want to finish?" She's murmuring the tease around his lips.

"You're killing me here." He pulls her into a tight embrace, needs to slow this down a little. "You're shivering," he whispers into her neck.

"Your fault."

"Hmm," he acknowledges the accusation, likes the implication. But she has _got_ to be freezing, really. The front of him is still damp and cold where her shirt had been pressed against his bare chest, not that he's complaining. No, not complaining _at all_. "Nothing to do with the fact that your clothes are soaking wet?"

"Nope." She tugs on his fingers again, pulling him the rest of the way through his office and into his bedroom.

"I don't believe you."

"You're awfully chatty all of the sudden." His dresser rattles as she pushes him against it, steps between his legs.

"Well, maybe we _should_ talk. About, you know…stuff. This." He wants to kick himself. He has a beautiful woman, who he is totally in love with, kissing and touching him and he pours ice water on the moment.

She draws back, runs her fingers over his frown. "Not right now. Plenty of time for that later." She doesn't look fazed or soured by his interruption; she just looks determined. "Help me take these off." She takes his hands in hers and moves them to the waistband of her slacks. "To warm me up."

The true implication of what they're doing is hitting him hard _(no pun intended, but it does work here)_. She wants him, said so herself. She loves him? Maybe. Something close to that, at least, for all she's giving up.

He doesn't want her to regret any of this, regret him. He couldn't survive having a taste of her and her taking it back. This is too fast, isn't it? _Four years of foreplay_, his body reminds him and his fingers take note and pop the button and slide her zipper down. Moving back to his chest, she rests her lips over his heart, but skates her fingers down to his dress pants and undoes them, the combination of love and lust making him dizzy.

She shucks her blouse and throws it towards the foot of his bed. His eyes sweep over her revealed skin, marred with various shades of bruising. "Jesus, Kate." He steps back, but reaches to run a finger along her ribcage and meets her eyes. He can see her trying to school her features, but a hint of pain flashes there.

"It's fine." She grabs his hand and brings it to her lips. "Really. Worse than it looks."

"When the adrenaline wears off, it'll hurt like hell."

"Well, then we'd better take advantage of it, huh?" She takes a step closer to his bed and he follows, body and brain not on the same page with his reservations. It would kill him to hurt her in any way and crawling on top of her and pinning her to his mattress probably isn't the best course of action right now. "Do you know what I want, Castle?"

"Bath," he blurts out.

She looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. Yeah, totally not where her mind was going. His either, if he's being honest. "What?"

"Let me run you a bath." He's pulling away and already heading to his bathroom and turning the faucet on.

"I don't want a bath." She's in the doorway and leveling him with this sexy as hell look that makes him weak in the knees and want to push her against the wall and—no, no. Geez, when he slammed her against his door earlier, that had to hurt. Why didn't she say anything?

"You'll change your mind once you're in it." He shuffles a few things around under the cabinet until he finds some Epsom salt and sprinkles a little into the running water. "It's big and comfy and has these jets that hit you in all the right places. So soothing. You'll love it."

"Castle—"

"Bubbles?"

She looks frustrated and aroused, and is biting her lip while she stares temptingly at the steaming water flowing into his tub. She wants it, he can tell. He smiles and waves the bubble bath (_vanilla isn't too girly, he maintains_) enticingly, tilted almost ready to pour. She shrugs a shoulder and he tips the bottle the rest of the way, watches as the suds immediately start forming where the jets are stirring the water.

He sloshes his fingers around to test the temperature…hot, but not scalding. Perfect. When he spins back around to explain to her which knob is which, he sucks in a deep, stuttering breath. She's removed her bra and is shimmying her pants and panties down her legs.

She's got this shy, yet determined, look on her face as she approaches him, climbs to her tip-toes and presses her mouth to his. He doesn't know where to put his hands because skin, skin, skin is everywhere, and oh my, this is dangerous. He's going to make love to her on the floor of his bathroom, if he doesn't stop it now. "Kate," he begs around her tongue, presses his own into her mouth out of want and reflex. He palms her shoulder blades, because that seems like the safest place, but now her breasts, taut nipples, are pushing at his chest and his groin has tightened so painfully-even with his button and zipper slackened—that he finds himself thrusting lewdly against her belly. "Tub, tub, tub," he mutters, coming back to his senses, shoving at her shoulders and holding her at arm's length. "I'll, um—I'll be back in a minute."

He turns and leaves the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind him and sinking against it to catch his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Not mine. I'll put them back when I'm done with them.**

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She can remember her mom always warning her not to take baths during thunderstorms, joked that she might come home one day and find Kate charred in the tub clutching a book. Kate, actually, researched it once (aiming to prove it a myth) and her mom was right; a lightning strike can use the piping system as a route to ground, causing electrocution to people taking a bath, showering, or doing dishes. It's rare, but it happens.

It's never stopped her.

If she hasn't perished from being nearly blown up (_again with the bathtubs)_, trapped in a freezer, faced with a dirty bomb, shot in the chest, or any other multitude of near-death scenarios, then she's not afraid of a little thunderstorm. Hell, just tonight she was dangling from a building after wrestling with her attempted-assassin. If a spark of atmospheric discharge crawls up the pipes to Castle's top-floor loft and executes her, then she's _destined_ to face her demise.

A loud clap of thunder mocks her. She's pretty sure Castle doesn't know about the whole stay-away-from-the-pipes-or-the-lightning-might-get-you thing because he wouldn't have practically pushed her into the bathtub if he had. And she's not educating him now, or he'll surely try to pluck her out. She's in now, and it's heavenly. Good stuff.

All that's missing is a good book.

And her partner.

Her partner who happens to write those good books. _Sexy._

As if on cue, there's a knock on the bathroom door.

"Are you seriously knocking on your own door, Castle?"

He doesn't answer her, just peeks his head around the heavy wood, blinks slowly at her, almost as if he's surprised that she's there. Or maybe he didn't think she'd really sink into his bathtub. He moves into the room and when she sees that he has a mug in his hand, she smiles up at him, even before she remembers what he said earlier that day about bringing her coffee, why he does it. Wow, she really _must_ be predictable. Or really like coffee. Or really, _really_ like him.

Yeah, that last one.

"Tea this time," he says, harvesting her thoughts and handing her the mug. "It's already late. Coffee will keep you up all night."

"Kinda what I was anticipating." She loves watching him falter and wishes he was at her level so she could kiss the slack-jawed expression off of his face. "Come here." She sets the mug on the wide ledge of the tub and tugs on a belt loop, dusts suds all over the front of him, until he kneels down.

This is all perfect and sensitive and wild and primitive, and she wants him _so_ badly, can't quite fathom how she denied herself this for years. She rises up a little, the sensation of being half in hot water, half chilled by the cool air making her frenzied with sensation and need. Her mouth opens, prepares to take his when he smacks a hot, wet kiss on her lips and stands abruptly. She slinks back into the bubbles with a sigh.

"How's the water temperature holding up?" He doesn't wait for an answer before he pushes the lever to trigger the drain and turns the hot knob, replacing the lukewarm water with freshly heated. She watches him silently for minutes, the play of the muscles in his back further arousing her, the way he continues to stay at arm's length annoying her.

"Relax," she says, breaking the silence.

His eyes startle to hers. "I…I am relaxed."

"Right. You're coiled as tight as a drum. I can _see_ the tension in your shoulders." He flexes his shoulders under her scrutiny, rolls them back and gives her an _'okay, you got me'_ expression after he winces at the crackling stiffness. "I'm an expert masseuse, you know." At his raised brow, "Okay, _expert_ might be generous. I did take a class in college, though. Learned where the pressure points are. Haven't practiced in years, but I know I've still got it."

"I might take you up on that," he muses, noncommittally. The _'someday'_ goes unspoken and she plows on, undeterred. He's heated, she can tell. It spurs her on, the way his irises darken when he meets her gaze.

"You're overdressed." She watches as he looks down his body then back to her, quizzically. He's still only wearing his pants. He must have zipped them when he left her a few minutes ago, but the button is still undone and damn if he doesn't fill them nicely. A blush creeps up her face, she feels the burn, when she meets his eyes and realizes that she's been staring. "Join me?"

He shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. He appears nervous, adorably shifting from foot to foot. His posture exudes innocence, but parts of him that she's studiously trying to ignore are evidencing anything but. He clears his throat. "I'm pampering _you_," he uses as his excuse.

"You can pamper me from in here." She pulls her wet fingers from beneath the water and wriggles them in a 'come hither' motion. "'Big, comfy tub', isn't that what you said, the line you used to seduce me into it?"

"Um."

"Come on," she urges. "I want to be close to you. But I understand if you don't want to…" She can tell from the light in his eyes that he's reluctantly persuaded.

"Okay, okay. Scootch." He motions for her to slide forward, but she stays put. She parts her legs, loves how light and buoyant they feel. He's surveying her movements, she sees, watches him swallow hard when her bent knees bob above the sudsy surface.

"Here." She pats the water between her spread limbs and shows him where she wants him.

"I'll squash you."

She laughs. "I don't break. Besides, pressure feels nice." And it does. She can feel the force of the jets at her muscles and bruises, and it's a pleasurable pain. She wants to feel his weight against her.

"Masochist."

"Just get in." She turns her head away, sips at her tea while he undresses. She wants nothing more than to watch him strip his pants and boxers off, reveal himself to her. He's getting hard, she knows, yearns to see that evidence unrestricted by clothing. But he's been timid, on edge since moving past his front door, and she doesn't want to spook him further.

She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, could easily fall asleep like this if she weren't so excited, stirred emotionally. The water splashes and shifts in waves and she feels his body settle between her thighs, pushing them even further apart. Heat pools in her belly and she has to bite her tongue to resist the urge to moan.

Opening her eyes, she can see that he's sitting stock still in front of her, and she cards her wet fingers through his hair, slicking it back. He grunts at the sensation and it makes her grin; he can't run and hide from her now. Pulling at his shoulders, jerking through his resistance, she gets him to relax against her, his head nestled under her chin. She curls her legs around him and rests her shins at his knees. He palms her ankles and halts their jaunt up his thighs.

She loops her arms under his, and he shivers when her they tickle his sides and her short nails scrape along his ribcage. Her mouth lands on his shoulder, licks at the beads of moisture there. When her teeth fasten to his flesh, Castle's hands meet hers beneath the water and squeeze in askance. She doesn't understand. He's stopping this, isn't he? She pulls her hands away completely and rests them across her chest.

"Rick, do you not…not want me?" She feels vulnerable now, trapped. This was a stupid stupid idea. She just assumed, but she's kept him waiting and-.

"God, Kate, how can you even question that?"

She exhales a deep sigh of relief, but is still confused and a little hurt. "I kiss you and now you pull back. I touch you and you pull my hands back to a safe-zone. Castle, I'm tired of playing it safe in _this_ aspect of my life. I'm ready to let go of a lot of things, but I'm ready to latch on to you."

"I just don't ever want you to be disappointed for choosing…this, over your mom's case. I need you to have every opportunity to rethink it before…before we're too far."

"I didn't choose this. I chose _myself_. I haven't done that in more years than I can remember. And a part of me is _you_, Castle." She nudges his hair with her forehead and pecks at the back of his neck. "God, that sounded cheesy, didn't it?" She can't see his smile, but can feel the rumble of his laugh travel through her frame. "In this relationship, it's a good thing _you're_ the writer and I'm the detec-." She stops herself, goes still.

"What? What is it?"

"I resigned."

"You what?" He's turning his head to try to face her, but she stops him, fingers at his ears holding him still, rubbing along his lobes to quiet the questions.

"I turned in my badge today. Would have had to do it anyway," she explains in a whisper. "Gates suspended me. I just made it a little more…permanent." She squeezes his biceps, trails her hands down to his forearms. "I don't really want to talk about it now, though, okay?"

"Okay."

His voice is too quiet, too even. She ducks her head and presses her cheek against his. "I'm not shutting you out, ya know? I just want to focus on the happy. _You_ make me happy."

"I'd spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy if you'd let me."

"I'll let you." Shifting a little, he angles his head back to meet her eyes, maybe needing to see truth in her statement. Let him look; it's all right there. He half-turns and his shoulder tucks into her breasts, allowing him room to jerk her by the neck and press his hot, open mouth into hers.

"Let me love you," he pleads, rolling his body the rest of the way over, knees sliding against the slippery floor of the tub, causing his chest to smash against hers, the water lapping over the edges.

"Yes, yes, Castle. Love me." Her hands glide down his back and lower, pulling at his hips.

"Not physically. Not what I meant. Not yet. You're hurt. I want you so much. We can't, Kate." The words leave his mouth in quick succession, undoubtedly trying to sway her and her errant hands from where they're meeting in the front of him, at his abdomen and down, down.

He's hard and thick and the heft of him is scorching her palm. Knowing that this reaction is for her is empowering, increases her want. Love and lust are merging, and she's already pulsing at the sheer thought of him filling her.

"Gotta stop, Kate." He's staring at her, wet hair slung into his eyes and he's _growling_, deep guttural sounds pushing up from his throat.

"No." When she quickens her strokes, he leans up and grasps her wrist, shakes her off, but keeps her close.

"Not here," he mutters at the top of her breast, lips sinking below the soapy surface to take her nipple.

When he rises, she brushes the bubbles from his face and nods at him. "Yes. Here. Now." She hooks her legs around his hips, searching, and he pulls one further up to his waist, creating a bit of room between them.

"Show me-. Show me what you like, Kate." He tangles her hand in his and places them on her inner thigh, leaving her to guide him the rest of the way.

Her body is already thrumming before she presses their joined fingers to her flesh, slick with more than just water. She removes her hand from his and he stills momentarily until she secures her elbow around his neck and thrusts her hips.

The excitement of not being able to anticipate the movements and pressure of his fingers is exhilarating. She's never trusted a man to please her like this, has such confidence that he'll know her body as well as he knows her heart and mind.

He inches his fingers down to slip two inside her. She moans and screws her eyes shut, caught off guard by the amazing intrusion.

She's panting at his temple when an intense roar of thunder, followed immediately by a bright flash of lightning fills the room. Their breaths are coming quickly—harsh, staccato gasps mingling between them. She can feel it building, the slow burn he's stoking inside her, pushing, pulling, curling, pressing and then another deafening crack of thunder and…

…the power goes out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Not mine. But, if I owned HBO and Castle, we wouldn't need imaginations.**

**A/N: The angst came out of nowhere. I hope the make-up balances that enough.  
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Even with a flashlight in one hand, lit iPhone in the other and sporadic flashes of lightning guiding him, Castle has still managed to stub his toe, bang his shin on the edge of his desk, and crash a shoulder into the doorframe of his bedroom.

"Damn it," he hisses at that last injury.

"Everything okay?"

Ah, Kate.

Kate on his bed.

_What pain?_

She's leaning back against his headboard, atop of the covers, long legs crossed at the ankles. Her eyes are closed, but he realizes that's probably because he's forcing the beam of his flashlight directly into her face. He lowers it with a _"Sorry"._

Now, eyes open, she's glowing like a goddess in the dim candlelight, damp hair starting to dry and curl at the edges. His favorite blue robe is swallowing her and she's snuggled into it. Would it be ironic that he loves her _in_ it so much that he wants to get her _out_ of it? The robe had been hooked on the back of the door, and he grabbed for it blindly, draped it around her body and kissed her deeply in apology before scooping his pants from the floor and scrambling from the bathroom.

When the power had first flashed off, he assumed for a moment he had blacked out from sensation overload. The immediate, enveloping darkness had coincided with the glorious experience of her body clenching and pulsing violently around his fingers and her throaty _'Yes, yes Castle' _stammered against his jaw. It was too much carnality for him to take and he wouldn't have blamed his system for shutting down in surrender. If it weren't for the distraction of losing his vision— therefore the sight of her in the midst of pleasure—he's very sure it would have only been another instant until he climaxed with her, so very close even without any immediate physical stimulation.

The shrill, earsplitting sound of his loft's alarm system triggering pulled them out of their moment. Instead of getting to bask in her afterglow, he couldn't even see her, had to feel his way out of the water and help her to her feet. The legs holding her up were shaky and he may have grinned a tiny bit smugly at that.

He had told her he'd be right back and guided her towards a cabinet where some matches and candles were gathering dust (his power _never_ goes out and he hasn't romantically entertained a woman in longer than his body deems fair).

Now, nearly a half an hour later, he's finally back where he wants to be. Near her.

"I finally got the issue straightened out with the alarm company before they dispatched the police and fire department," he explains. "The outage tripped the unit, and I'm apparently not connected to a secondary power source. So, I had to recite my life's history to aptly assure that I wasn't a cat burglar."

"At least you know it works, right?" Kate muses, looking for the bright side.

"Yeah, well we figured that out last year when I was playing 'keep away' with Alexis's diary and she slammed me into the panic button." Kate makes a sympathetic noise, and the reflection of the flames flickers across her amused wince. "I know, right? Full on police presence. At midnight. I got dirty looks from my neighbors for weeks."

She's laughing now and it's beautiful against the soundtrack of the crackling thunder still filling his loft. "How did I _not_ know about this?"

"You were—it was when you were at your dad's cabin. Last summer."

"Oh." She looks sad and guilty and self-depreciating and he hates the way it overshadows the contentment that filled her countenance only seconds ago.

He doesn't like to think about that time either, the time when she tossed him out of her life. And most of it doesn't even relate to how his heart was broken, what he thought was beyond repair. But, it was because he was envisioning what she was going through. Having a vivid imagination pays the bills, but is also a curse when it comes to visualizing things you have no way of proving, one way or another.

Every ache, every pain, every fear, each backwards glance, wondering what was next, who was where—is that what she spent months focusing on? It doesn't even help that he now knows she was seeing a therapist—though he's glad for it—because it just reinforces that everything he thought may have been going on with her, probably really was. And he wasn't there for any of it. He _so_ wanted to be.

He wasn't naïve enough to believe that he could be her knight in shining armor or truly protect her. Still isn't. He just wanted to help share the burden of everything. Still does.

"Tell me what happened today," he says, tapping off his flashlight with a glance down at his watch. One-forty a.m. "Yesterday," he corrects, as he crosses the short distance to his bed, eases down beside her.

"I told you."

"You only told me you almost died." He's huffing a little petulantly, but he's still raw…happens every time he thinks about last summer. And the fresh wound of their recent argument just adds more sting. She knows him well enough that it should be surprising that he hasn't asked for elaboration on _"I almost died" _before now. Hell, he's surprised he's lasted this long.

"I also told you I didn't want to talk about it. Knowing the details won't make it any easier for you." She's curt, withdrawn, and it puts him on edge.

"I'm not looking for easy, Kate. I want to be there for you. That's all I've ever wanted. You don't get to come in here and tell me that you want me, but not let me have all of you in return."

"What more do you need, Castle?"

"What more-?" He flinches, stops, regroups. "I want to know what makes you happy, what makes you sad, what makes you scared. I want to know what could have possibly happened to make you change your mind about wanting me. Like this." He snaps his fingers to indicate her quick change of heart. He knows his voice is loud and booming and irritated. "You know what I think? I think I'm _safe_. You can come to me and lick your wounds until you're ready to go after this thing again. And hey, if you get laid or happen to find out some pertinent information in the process…bonus, right?" He gets up and paces, doesn't realize how relatively small his bedroom is until he runs out of space and feels like a caged animal. He doesn't intend to meet her eyes, but does and even in the dim light, can see that she's crying. He can't take it, jerks open his dresser drawer and pulls out handfuls of clothes. He flings the items onto the bench at the foot of his bed and tosses the flashlight he's been gripping on the mattress near her hip. "You should see yourself out."

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The hot water didn't last nearly as long as he needed it to, most of it being used on their bath earlier (which he's trying earnestly not to think about), and with no electricity, the reserve in his tank had started as tepid at best. Fifteen minutes into his shower now, the water cascading down his face, mingling with his completely unmanly tears, is uncomfortably cold. He turns off the water and slides open the shower stall, feels his way to the towel bar, where he wraps the terrycloth he finds there around his waist.

He makes his way to the bathroom door and sighs, presses his forehead against it. He needs to call her, make sure she got home okay. Apologize for some of what he said. She claimed she'd let him make her happy; he hadn't imagined that, right? Then, why was she shutting him out, keeping everything from him? He doesn't only want the sugarcoated stuff, and that seems all she is willing to offer, which makes whatever they are (_were?_) attempting to start seem so shallow.

Love is being able to both give and take the good and the bad. He's ready for that, but maybe she isn't. Though, she's never claimed love, has she?

He just…just needs to figure this out.

He opens the door and takes an experimental step into his bedroom. Kate must have blown the candles out before she left because again he's left in stark blackness. _Seems fitting_, he thinks, allowing himself to wallow in a little self-pity.

"You wanted to know what makes me happy?"

He lurches at her voice, nearly jumps out of his skin.

"My God, Kate," he breathes, palm to his racing heart. "I thought you were gone."

"You make me happy," she continues, ignoring his startled outburst. "I thought we had already established this, but I'll keep saying it until you get it. I'm not letting you push me away."

She didn't leave. She didn't leave. _She didn't leave._ His mind is on repeat, trying to decipher exactly what that means for them.

"Remembering every day that my mom's not around to see my happiness—will never get to meet you—that's what makes me sad. And knowing that someone wants me dead scares the shit out of me. But more than that, it's thinking that you could get caught in the crosshairs that frightens me to the core. Because, Castle, losing you is what would really kill me."

"Kate-." He starts towards her, realizes in the pitch black that he doesn't really know where she is. He lost his bearings when he exited the bathroom to her voice. "You're not going to lose me."

"That's not what it seems like when you keep running away." He inhales deeply through his nose and clenches his jaw because…she's right. It's been a very long time since she's been the one fighting this and the clarity of that is startling. "Castle, I couldn't do this before—wouldn't risk it because I couldn't let anyone know how much…how important you are to me. I'd be showing them my hand if they knew that you were my weakness. That losing you would kill me faster than any bullet to the heart." He hears her take a lungful of air and continue. "But, knowing that if I stop, they stop—Castle, this is _it_. I'm done."

His breaths are shallow and ragged. He's blinking hard and fast, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, give him _some_ vision. He's tried to follow her voice, but doesn't want to blindly pitch his hands out in search of her. "Where are you?"

"Right here."

It comes out almost a question, but he's okay with that, selfishly ignores her confusion because she's right in front of him now and he just needs to feel her. He cants his body forward and misjudges the distance, careens into her roughly, knees bumping and bending awkwardly, sending them both tumbling to the mattress.

"You're sending me mixed signals, here," she mumbles, lips bumping his cheek, an iota of humor laced in her words.

"I didn't…pouncing you wasn't my intention." He rolls to her side, untangles their legs, and adjusts his loosened towel so he can sit up on the edge of the bed. Beside him, he thinks she's still lying down.

"I realize that. Kidding." Yes, she's still flat beside him. He's trying to picture her. Her voice is a little muted, so maybe her hand or arm is blocking her mouth. "Castle, I'm sorry if I pushed too far, earlier. When you touch me, it—I just get so—all I could think about was-."

"Hmm?" He wants her to finish every one of those thoughts.

"It wasn't about _getting laid_, I need you to know that."

He groans. "I do. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. My feelings were hurt and I think I was striving to hurt you too. I was trying to reconcile why you came here saying that you wanted me."

"You mean besides the fact that I _do_ and that this has been brewing for years?"

"Yeah, besides that." He's an idiot. He rolls on his side and slides his hand to her, a short distance across the mattress. He bumps her thigh and toys with both the edge of his robe and her flesh. They each suck in sharp gasps. "I'm looking for your hand," he clarifies, "not trying to grope you."

"I figured. You've been very…chivalrous this evening." Her fingers find his and she laces them together, slides them up until they rest jointly on her stomach.

He can feel the loose bulge of tied fabric beneath his palm. He worms a digit into the knot and tugs at it experimentally. The fingers of her other hand join his in untying the robe, letting it slide open and the material pool at her sides.

He hovers over her a little more, spreads his fingers at the neutral zone of her torso, heel of his hand at her belly button. "Tell me what happened," he whispers another chance at her.

There is a long moment of silence and his fingers twitch, but he doesn't extract them, is tired of pulling away every time she doesn't work on his timetable. Another minute.

"I chased him to the roof of a building, was prepared to fight. And win."

When she speaks, he lets out a sigh of relief. He needs to know, needs her to share, but the thought of what might come next churns his guts. "But?"

"But, he tossed me around like a ragdoll. My training was no match for his. He was like a machine, Castle. When he hit me here," she moves his hand high on her ribs, "I couldn't catch my breath, and I'm not sure if it was the impact or realizing the distinct possibility that I couldn't win this."

He lies still and stays quiet because he doesn't know if she's done, and he's not sure what to say regardless. He wants to take her away, far far away and hide her from the world, protect her. She probably wouldn't like it if he admitted that, so he'll just continue to keep his mouth shut and wait for her to tell him what she needs. He'll give her anything.

"Then," she brings their fingers to her neck, where he feels her pulse rapid and alive, "he choked me."

"Kate—"

"He could have easily ended it all right then. But, he didn't. I don't know why. It wasn't mercy; this man doesn't know the meaning. It felt like…taunting."

"Maybe he could tell that you were ready to stop fighting."

"I _wasn't_ stopping. Not yet." She rises against his hand and he slides it from her throat to the back of her neck, follows her as she leans up. He feels her mouth touch his chin, glide up to his lips. It's not quite a kiss, but it's more. Maybe she needs him close for what comes next. Or maybe she knows that he needs her.

"Can I hold you?" He really wishes he could see her. How long does it take to fix a transformer, anyway?

She doesn't answer him, but he hears the mattress creaking, and she's out of his arms and he feels the loss keenly. Then she's back; her legs knock his where they hang from the bed. She's at his shoulders, her fingers and the slack cuffs of his robe brushing across his bare skin. He reaches out to guide her, doesn't know where he's guiding her to. Next, the bed dips on both sides of him and then he feels it—her—on and around him_(everywhere, everywhere)_, dropping into his lap, knees astride his hips.

"I tried to fight back." Her soft voice mutes into his neck and he squeezes her tighter to him, trying to be mindful of the injuries she's recounting for him. He's struggling to disregard the fact that her bare body (his robe is more _off_ than _on _her) is pressed up against his, and they're only separated by his towel. There's nothing about hearing how she was hurt that's arousing, but _everything_ about being wrapped up in her is. He's relying on the former to tamper the later. "I ended up dangling from the edge of the rooftop."

"Jesus."

"I heard your voice. You were calling to me. I thought you were coming for me." He swallows down his tears and they lodge in his throat, alongside his heart. "I screamed for you. Needed you to save me." He's crying now and he doesn't give a damn. He gives her apologies, whispers them into her hair. She shakes them off and keeps going. "You saved me, Rick. It may not have been your arms pulling me up from that ledge, but you were the one who kept me hanging on. So, instead of letting go of the building, I let go of my mom's case. Let go of it all. And I'm so much lighter now."

"Thank you, Kate. For sharing this with me." Now he understands why she didn't want to talk about it, needed some time to be ready.

"Thank you for making me."

"Please just promise me that if you feel the need to pick this up again, you won't do it alone." The thought of her back in this again isn't one he ever wants to entertain, but he has to stay realistic. "It takes more than one person to win a war."

"I'm done, Castle."

"I know, but—"

"No more wars, Rick." Her lips are at his ear, grazing before moving to the sensitive flesh behind it. He shivers and can feel her smiling against his skin in response. "It's over."

_God, he just wants to… _Before he can finish his less-than-pure thoughts, her mouth is on his, warm and insistent. Her tongue pushes between his lips and he takes it greedily. It isn't long before they've slowed the pace to the most erotic kissing he's ever experienced. He deviates his focus to touching her while she continues to make love to his mouth.

He can smell his soap on her where his robe has been pressed at her body, and it makes him groan, think of the more overt ways he can transfer his scent to her. His hands slide up her thighs to her hips and then boldly graze her rear end before skirting to the small of her back, a much safer place to keep him from rushing things. Her arms slither off of his shoulders and she's bouncing on him lightly, and _oh, she really shouldn't do that, _and he hears the whoosh of the fabric leaving her frame as she shrugs the robe off and goes back to his gaping mouth.

"Just…keep doing what you were doing," she cajoles, swaying back into his hands and forward into his…yeah, she's a smart girl, knows _exactly_ what she's instigating.

These little breathy whimpers that she keeps releasing are shooting straight to his groin. She's steadily rocking in his lap and she must feel his embarrassingly eager response beneath her because her urgency is progressively increasing.

"Castle, Castle—" He grips her hips tightly to slow her down, but instinct insists his body buck up to hers to make up for the loss of pace and pressure. "Can we take this off?" She's yanking on his towel and he steadies her with one hand, then reaches between them to jerk the offending fabric away from his lap, some still trapped between their legs, but off where it counts. Taking advantage of this, she finds him—hard and needy—and palms him gently against her body, slithers against him.

"Are you sure you're okay to do this?" Oh, if she's not, she'd better speak up now. He doesn't want to cause her any more pain, can't see her bruises, but they're mapped out in his mind.

"Yes." The slickness of her is coating him as she guides, and he's sliding so very close to their point of no return. "God, I'm so in love with you, Castle."

She's licking at his collar bone, shoulder, neck and…he's frozen. Because she—.

"I—"

"What's wrong?" Her tongue scrapes against the day's stubble, teeth clamp at his jaw. "Oh," she pauses, probably rewinding her words. "Surely you didn't question that."

"You've never said it. I—I wasn't sure."

"I love you. You. _You_." And in that moment, he feels the shift and enveloping heat of her drawing him in. He grunts from the surprise of suddenly intruding in the tightness of her body. It's a slow process and he eases his hips up and leads her down until there's no space between them. "I thought your _fingers_ felt good," she utters heatedly as she begins to move on him.

"You _cannot_ say things like that while we're doing this." She's trying to kill him. He's absolutely sure of it now.

"How come?" The way she teases and her hips are all shifty and clever is going to make him lose his self-control.

"Because," he growls, "you already make me crazy."

He hears the buzz of energy before the lights blink and flicker back to life, bathing them in the fluorescence of his bedroom. The harsh contrast against the accustomed darkness is sharp and causes him to blink rapidly. He sees Kate, _oh Kate_, doing the same thing, brows furrowed, pupils thick in dilation.

It's completely sensual and awkward that they're first exposed to each other again while they're in the middle of making love. He reluctantly lets her go to put his hands on the mattress behind him and lean back onto them. She stares him down, watches him intensely as he adjusts position. "You're so sexy," she states, and he can't help the laugh that bubbles out of him. "What?" She grins and presses her palms to his chest, using the leverage to rise and fall over him.

"I'm pretty sure that's my line." He brushes the hair from her eyes, fingers it behind her ear. She's gorgeous and she's his, every inch of her. She's her own very powerful woman, who can totally kick his ass, but here, right now, like this, she's _his_. He trails his hand down her chest, lets the pad of his thumb rest over her scar while his palm kneads her breast, watches her reaction to make sure she's okay. Though it would probably be more romantic fully on the bed, he does take advantage of being perched on the edge, lets his feet flatten to the floor and press his legs up, making him a more active participant in their love making.

"I'm close," she tells him, her thrusts over him less measured. He could watch her like this forever, but his biology is telling him that his part in this first round is nearly over, also.

"Yeah?" He slips his fingers to where they're joined, but she stops him before he can help her along. She shakes her head, tangles their fingers, circles over him sloppily, and stills. Her mouth opens on a sob and then he experiences it, the sequence of rhythmic pulsations that grip him like a fist. He tries to drive through them, but it's scant moments later that he's forced to let go, holds her tightly until the throbbing subsides.

"I'll get up in a minute, I promise." She's sprawled, body pressed to his, soft hum of contentment vibrating at his collar bone. "I can't move."

"You don't hear me complaining." He gracelessly hooks his robe in his toes, manages to contort his foot far enough off the floor to snatch the fabric and cover their sated forms with it. "You complaining?" He presses a kiss to her temple.

"Making love with you is overwhelming," she grumbles, climbing up his body.

"Could you try to getting used to it?" Her open mouth finds his and he's pretty sure that's his answer. "I plan on overwhelming you regularly."

**00000000000000000000**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and PMs. They mean a lot.  
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